Final Fantasy VII: Alpha
by AspiringVictory
Summary: Please join me in writing this collaborative fanfic. Until then, I will continue to write it on my own.


Midgar is a city floating approximately 50 meters in the air, linked to the ground by train and highway transit. We utilize a total of eight mako reactors, sequentially numbered starting with the #1 northern reactor, to supply electricity to the city.

Construction continues smoothly; Shinra Company Headquarters and Sector 4 are the last on the schedule to be completed. The headquarters interior in Sector 0 is complete and already in operation. The exterior is slated for completion in two years, while the surrounding city will be finished in seven years.

Reeve Tuesti, Director of City Planning

Journal Entry #1-

So here goes. I've decided to keep a journal from now on. Wife says it might help. My name is Ole, and don't you pronounce it with gusto. I really hate that. I'm just Ole, like 'old' without the hard 'D' of age. I sure feel aged though. My skin is weathered, but not from the weather. I work the Mako reactors, but heck you already know that; whoever you are who might one day read this (you better not read this!!!). Everyone here works the reactors. Well, pretty much. Since the beginning of civilization, people have always flocked to the job hotspots, and this place is really burning. I see it right before my eyes, but I don't feel it. Not really. I don't really feel much of anything. I can't remember the last time I felt a real, concrete emotion. I suffer from depression. Major depression. Though if you ask me, I'm one of the lucky ones. I'd hate to be one of these poor hardworking bastards yelling at each other over the lunch table, arguing over blueprints and lining up to kiss Tuesti's asscheeks. I'm just like them (minus the asscheeks part), but my depression helps me phase it out. Almost entirely. I'm so depressed that I can't remember what I did yesterday, or the day before. Or last week, or even months past. I know what I did. I know I went to work, came home and watered the plants (those pathetic, poor, withering plants), ate a meager meal at our tiny kitchen table. But I really can't identify any bookmarks, anything unique at all that really separates one day from the rest.

Man they work us hard here…

Signing off sincerely to myself,

Mr. Who Cares

Journal Entry #2-

Alright, alright, so I thought I was done with this stupid journal before I started it, but the wife says no sex unless I keep at it. So you bet your ass I will. There will be words! I don't really wanna talk about my sex life (or lack thereof---you didn't read that!!!), so I guess I'll have to find something else to groan about. Oh gee, I know. How about the only other fucking thing there is.

Midgar.

Yep, big fucking deal this is. Midgar is what they're calling it. These arrogant pricks got me sweating through my briefs, working double OT to put this floating piece of chocobo shit in the air. Like I told you before, my skin is weathered. Man, I look 50. I'm actually in my late 20's though. I've got the tough, fleshy, incredibly strong build of an ox, without the physique that lets you take your shirt off in public. Someone tried to mess with me once. That was about eight years or so ago, give or take. That was the last time. I don't really go picking fights, but I'm game for violence if it comes to me.

Ah what the hell. I'll just diddle in my journal, writing 'ZZZ's' for an hour while she keeps an eye on me. Enough of this personal stuff.

Journal Entry #3-

Alright well, that didn't work. I had her going for a while but she just had to go and open it while I was at work, and the next thing you know I'm sleeping on the couch. Well now, what should I talk about? Oh yeah, the city. Not much to tell. It's barebones. Even the rich have yet to move in. That's how you know it's a real pile of junk. Everywhere I look there's pipes and substructures; silver foundations and concrete being poured. There's the wood meant for building and the wood meant for showing off. There's a taste of acid in the air, or something. Black smoke covers the sky, so that you can't take a deep breath without wondering if it'll be your last. Damn I'm unhealthy. Strong, sure. But with this atmosphere I wonder how long I'll manage to keep going. The boss says it's cleaner than the mines at Corel, but chances are he was just told to say that. They can't get enough laborers, and the more they get, the less we each make. Shinra Electric Power Company is basically funding this whole thing, and they're embedding themselves in every inch of the place, right from the foundations up. One day this'll probably be Shinra's city, if it ever gets completed.

(Note to self, from wife: Don't write like such a hard ass just cuz I hate writing this.)

Actually it's sort of growing on me a little. Just a novelty, perhaps. I am somewhat intelligent and well-spoken, I guess. She's right. She's my compass, oh yes she is.

Journal Entry #4-

Today I had an argument, which turned into a discussion, with a coworker; my friend Jaggo. We were helping to build a wall, which for some reason is slated to be painted red. Quirky fellas, these ones. I don't even understand why we were…I mean look, I get it. It beats that giant serpent finding its way out of the grasslands, and maybe it protects you from a giant tsunami (as if one could reach so far inland!). But man, isn't it just a little insensitive (they probably don't know what that means) to leave everyone else all the way down there? I mean let's face it. I mean I haven't been constructing and deconstructing for most of my life to not know a slum when I see one. There's no way the development is ever going to reach those holes down there. Once they're nice and cozy on their big plate, they'll scrap all the plans for ground level.

Oh yeah, the plate. It's this enormous structure. Well, it will be. We could've had the damn thing built by now, but they had to get all fancy shmancy on us. The president of the Shinra Electric Power Company…whose name is appropriately: Shinra…wants a fucking railroad spiraling around the plate! Never mind how long it takes; what are the chances that it actually functions right?

The argument with Jaggo was basically me trying to save him from himself. The poor wretch is always trying to upgrade himself. Says he found a spot, grey and worn, like the city was being built around it. And no feeling comes from this spot. It's small, but it's covered. And maybe, just maybe, he can set up a small newspaper company there, with grey papers for the grey days. Something to read as you stand on the train platform, sheltered from the rain. Some glimmer of a voice in what will undoubtedly be a very unhappy place. Maybe he'll write about daily stories, he and his journalists. Maybe they'll make stuff up. I don't know. I told him that this wasn't a good time to stick his head in the clouds. Look how dirty they are, I told him. Keep to the mud, keep your head in the dirt. Work, work, work. And then work some more. Then he told me I would secretly be his most avid subscriber, at which point I thought about socking him in the jaw.

Midgar sucks!

Journal Entry #5-

Journal's growing on me. City is too. Deep, deep. My sadness grows, and deeper I fall into this dark city. This machinery, this night. I dwell like the sewer rats. I work the early shift, the late shift, the midnight shift, the graveyard shift. The trains keep me company. Time passes, they come. They go, time slows down. Lurking around every wet, dirty corner is a shadow, never reaching the light. I am Midgar. Midgar is built around me, through me. The sky is never bright anymore. If it is, I have missed the day, and I am not sorry for it. I love this place. I need this place. There was no childhood for me. There is no life.

There is only this dark city.

Journal Entry #6-

Updating journal. It's been a while. I was tortured. Very recently. I told this prick to fuck off. He was trying to recruit me for fighting. Guess he was some hotshot. They beat the living fuck out of me. Chained my arms to the walls and really went to town. I laughed when they used their sword hilts. Told them where to stick 'em. They had to go and get all fancy, whipping out magic and shit. First they enfeebled me. They poisoned me, they blinded me, they yelled at me. Then they beat me. After a while I told them I'd join, but the fucker's said it was too late. Bet they didn't even let the geeky guy know. They just kept pounding away.

Nobody talks to me, understood? I am not available for comment. I warn coworkers with a look. I warned the geek with a blunt response. Someone talks to me, I hit them. I hit everyone. I am Midgar, and Midgar is mean. It is a dark place, and the sinister rising of Mako is the evil of my spirit. Midgar is me. I am Midgar. I am Midgar. I AM MIDGAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I AM MIDGAR!!!!!!!!!!!!

Journal Entry #7-

Today Jaggo and I, and a few others, went for a spin. Nobody talks to me, and I don't talk to them. We started on the plate, with very little lighting. We took a ladder, a yellow one. It went down a great distance. We had to crawl. It was dangerous. I felt no fear. I felt nothing. We reached a staircase. Several platforms. Surrounding us were metal holding pins and towers painted yellow. I wanted to get away from them, so I jumped from a platform on to one of the towers. They're ideal for climbing, but they're not meant for it. The men were screaming at me. I promised them pain. They quieted, muttering. I beat them to the bottom. And they had to circle the perimeter. Past the fusion tanks, and the steel rods, and that never ending yellow construction tape plastered everywhere. I landed near some of that tape, except mine was framing a doorway. No door for this doorway. I went through, ahead of the pack. There was a makeshift walkway, a folded ladder. I crawled some more. I went through the ventilation shaft, just to piss them off. Just to go the 'wrong' way, and beat them to it. I'll beat anyone. I am an animal. All the light was suddenly blue. I was going through an emergency evacuation shaft.

We met up in the slums. I call it the slums. Everyone else just calls it Sector 5, like it's just another Sector, just one of the eight. I don't think so. This place is a real shithole, and the people are poorer than rats. The young men are mostly hooligans, thugs. I want to talk to them, but they're a bit uneasy around me. They know I could whip their asses, I bet. I pushed a few crates over, just to make a scene. I bullied my way through.

What is happening to me? I don't even care.

I uncovered a weapons depot. Looks like they're setting up shop. It'll be a regular black market. I demanded a materia demonstration, but it was all shit. Well, at least what the guy showed me. He wanted 5,000 gil for a Buster Sword, but I told him to go fuck himself.

Signing off, cuz what the fuck ever,

X

Journal Entry #8-

Didn't bother to finish the story last time. So there we were in the Sector 5 slums. Greatest fucking place on earth. Better than the empty train platform at 2 a.m., with the cold air, and the orchestral symphony playing in my head. Yeah, that's right. The orchestral fucking symphony. We all set about fixing stuff. Pro bono gig. I pulled out my big man wrench, but I didn't do shit. I was just there for the atmosphere. I wanted to sniff the air, see what I could dig up. Just be there, just live. There's nothing cooler than the poor, but only when you're on the outside looking in. I'm on the outside, but I'm trying to get inside. Maybe I should get a disguise, and come here on off days. Oh yeah, there are no fucking off days.

Fucking hate Shinra.

I'm strolling around. I come across this middle aged lady. She's plain looking. She's got green eyes and brown hair. By tomorrow, I won't be able to remember her face. I take pity on her and lift a few big panels for her, which is now her roof. They're an ugly, pale white color. She wouldn't mind if I finished the siding, but I walk away. I don't know, maybe some other time, if I feel like it.

I am the slums.


End file.
